


Godling

by Fictionista654



Series: Merlin is a God AUs [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin is a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Once upon a time, a god named Emrys fell from the stars to meet his destiny.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin is a God AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693066
Comments: 36
Kudos: 590





	Godling

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a sequel to Trickster, just another fic where Merlin's a god, so I thought I'd lump them together in a series.

Once upon a time, a god fell from the stars. He landed lightly in a crouch and rose to meet the cool dark of early-morning. The god’s name was Emrys, and he was not much more than twenty years old. As ages went, this was practically fetal for a god. His father was a thousand years old, his mother almost twice that. Emrys was the youngest of the pantheon by several hundred years.

And yet Emrys was an important god. There was a time when almost every man, woman, and child in Albion could quote Emrys’s prophesy in the Book of All Things: 

_And there shall arrive a Time when the Hypocrite King steals Camelot’s Soul. It is then that Emrys, God of Magic, shall takes up Arms with the Golden King to remove Camelot’s Soul from Captivity and to unite all Albion. As it is written, so it shall be._

When Uther Pendragon dashed the idols from their high places and used the Book of All Things as kindling, he meant to scour the land of all gods, especially the god of magic. Scorned and persecuted, the sorcerers found more reason to pray than ever. As their numbers diminished and diminished again, the remaining prayers grew ever more acute.

Emrys grew up receiving these prayers, and their anguish haunted him. He longed to follow them to earth, where he could walk among the humans and ease their suffering. But Killgharrah, king of the gods, forbade Emrys from leaving.

“Everything has its time, little god,” said the dragon, and laughed.

So Emrys divined a way to reach earth and struck out on his own. On the eve of Prince Arthur’s twenty-first birthday, Emrys went to seek his future.

The god who fell from the stars turned in the direction of Camelot, and began to walk.

At first, Camelot amused Emrys. The gods were few, and each god lives in his or her own castle, tending to their own lands. Emrys had never been in a city before, and ran through the winding, cobblestoned streets with abandon. He went to the marketplace and bought bright-colored scarves and even brighter fruits, draping himself with the former and devouring the latter. He walked through the upper town, where large houses stood separate from each other. He walked through the lower town, where the domiciles could be so cramped that one could reach out their window and touch the house opposite. Every now and then, Emrys would pass a pocket of prayer, a whisper—

_Emrys I am hungry tired lost help me help me Emrys—_

Sometimes he would listen, and sometimes he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to do the god things right away. That wasn’t why he was here, not yet. Firstly, he wanted to understand the humans. He wanted to live among them.

Secondly, he needed to keep his Golden King safe until the time came to overthrow the evil Uther Pendragon. 

It seemed that that time would be a long time coming. Emrys was disappointed when he finally met Arthur Pendragon; was this common bully the man who would bring magic back to the land, the man who would unite Albion?

 _Clearly,_ thought Emrys as he watched Arthur shoot arrows at a gangly page, _I have my work cut out for me._

A merlin bird circled overhead. 

Merlin’s very first day in Camelot, he saved a sorcerer from being beheaded. His second day, he set a dragon free. His third day, he stopped the sorcerer’s angry mother from killing the entire court. His fourth day, he scrubbed the crown prince’s boots. Being a servant didn’t bother him in the least. In fact, he rather liked it. The juxtaposition of the two positions amused him. 

_To think that I, mighty Emrys, am cleaning a human’s shoes!_ Merlin would think cheerfully. _The things we do for destiny._

“What do you have to be so happy about?” Arthur would say, and Merlin would grin and shrug and duck his head. Sometimes he could almost forget the difference in their stations because to Merlin, Arthur was almost divine.

Arthur was also a prat.

 _Am I merciful god?_ Merlin wondered. _I think I am, but maybe I shouldn’t be anymore._ And he bent back down over Arthur’s thrice-polished armor.

“It’s not good enough, Merlin,” Arthur had said each time Merlin brought it for inspection. “I need to be able to see my _face_ in it.”

“Surely you’ll be too busy fighting to check your reflection?” Merlin said innocently, and had had a full goblet chucked at him for his troubles.

So Merlin sighed and scrubbed and slaved away. 

He was found out only a few times. The first was when he faked his own illness after drinking from a poisoned chalice. He’d had to do it, both the drinking and the feigning, to save Arthur’s life. But the court physician, Gaius, was cleverer than Merlin had accounted for.

“I know what you are,” Gaius had said, his voice low. “Godling.” 

Merlin opened an eye and glared half-heartedly, but his expression softened when he saw that Gaius was kneeling on the cold stone floor. “That can’t be good for your knees,” said Merlin, and Gaius admitted that it wasn’t. “Rise, then,” said Merlin, and Gaius did.

Slowly, his eyes on Merlin the whole time, Gaius took a seat at Merlin’s bedside.

“How could you tell?” Merlin said, interested. He had not known that mortals could figure out gods. 

“Your heartbeat,” said Gaius. “Or rather, your lack of it.”

Merlin touched a hand to his still chest and frowned. “But I’m supposed to be poisoned.”

“If your heart stopped, and you were human, you would die,” Gaius said wryly.

“Oh,” said Merlin, and restarted his heart. “You humans are frail things, aren’t you?”

Gaius sighed, a sound like wind through dry leaves. “Yes, we are not remarkably sturdy creatures. Perhaps it’s a good thing that we are not or else I would be out of a job.” 

Merlin grinned: he liked jokes. After that, he liked to pop in on the Gaius, even helping when the old physician seemed overburdened with work. Merlin’s time with the humans had sharpened his sense of empathy, which had been blunted and dulled from a childhood in the clouds. 

The second time Merlin was found out was Lancelot. “I saw you kill the griffin,” said Lancelot. “The blue fire. The godfire.” 

Merlin looked at Lancelot with dark and empty eyes. “And?” he said. He heard the rush of Lancelot’s blood and the beat of Lancelot’s pounding heart. “You fear me.”

“I’d be stupid not to,” said Lancelot. “You’re no mere sorcerer.”

“Who am I, then?” said Merlin. “What is my name?”

Lancelot sank to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. “Balinor,” he whispered into the stone.

“Not quite,” said Merlin.

Lancelot looked up, a question in his eye. “Mordred?”

Merlin smiled, picturing himself as the sullen, forever-young god. “No.”

Lancelot named three more gods before he got it. “Emrys.” His voice was hoarse.

Merlin closed his eyes and inhaled Lancelot’s worship. It tasted good, like the damp inside of trees, and Merlin savored it. He leaned towards its source, power-drunk. They made quite the picture: Merlin, bending like a tree in the wind to meet Lancelot, Lancelot, rising towards Merlin like a sunflower towards the light. 

The next morning, when Lancelot left on his exile, Merlin found himself oddly destitute. He didn’t miss just Lancelot. He missed Lancelot’s worship. It had stirred something old and hungry in Merlin’s chest. In an attempt to convincingly play the role of human servant, Merlin had cut himself from the font of prayers towards Emrys. Now he wondered if that were a mistake. 

One crisp spring morning, Arthur dragged Merlin into the woods at an ungodly—ha!—hour. “Some people like do this thing called sleep,” said Merlin. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?” 

“Can’t say I have,” Arthur said. They were both playing a part: Merlin, the truculent manservant, and Arthur, the careless prince. Underneath, both of them knew there was no one they’d rather be with.

The forest was waking up, birds chirping and light dappling the soft forest floor. Merlin inhaled appreciatively. The green-growth-mud smell of the forest remind Merlin of his nursery. His cradle had been formed out of a tree, and he slept under the stars more often than not. 

“Are you all right?” Arthur said a few minutes later. “You’re not bothering me with incessant chatter.”

“Just admiring your princely backside,” Merlin said brightly. “Have you noticed there’s more of than usual?”

Arthur twisted around in his saddle to glare. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

“You’re _solid_ ,” Merlin said. 

“As if someone with ears like yours has any right to judge anyone else,” Arthur said grumpily, but Merlin could see a smile tugging at Arthur’s lips.

“Whoa!” Arthur yanked on his reigns, and Merlin pulled to a stop next to him. They both stared at the ravaged ground. 

Someone had been digging.

No, not digging. _Excavating._

“What is this?” Arthur said roughly.

Merlin alighted on the ground and bent to touch one of the yellowed shards. “It’s a mandible,” he told Arthur. “This is a mass grave.”

“A mass grave?” said Arthur. “Why…?”

“Do you really not know?” said Merlin, turning his hard gaze on the prince. 

“Know what?”

“The Purge,” Merlin said. Grief ghosted over his skin, and he shivered. He could feel the ghosts in this place and longed to set them free. But freeing ghosts was not Merlin’s domaine. He might do a spell to release the spirits, but only one person could safely guide them to the afterlife.

Arthur dismounted and came to stand by Merlin, shards of bone snapping and cracking beneath his feet.

“These are sorcerers, then?”

Merlin shrugged. “Sorcerers, Druids. Anyone who didn’t fit into your father’s Camelot.”

“Careful, Merlin,” said Arthur, his voice serious. “You’re getting awfully close to treasonous talk.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” said Merlin. “It’s up to you if you want to hear or not.”

Two weeks later, Uther Pendragon took ill. A blue frost hoared his skin, and his eye filmed white. 

Gaius thought it was sorcery, but he wanted to know Merlin’s opinion. “I dare say you’re the best magical expert Camelot will have have, my boy.” Gaius thought it was funny, being older than a god.

Merlin touched his fingers to Uther’s neck, and a chill went through him. For a moment, thought he would be sick. He staggered away from the king’s bedside and fell into a chair. 

“Only one thing can do that to a god,” Merlin said when he could speak. 

Gaius finished Merlin’s thought for him: “Another god.” 

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” said Merlin, his eyes flashing. “Arthur’s not ready yet.” The static electricity in the air crackled. 

“I’m sure we can fix this,” Gaius interrupted hastily. He liked Merlin, but the untapped depth of the boy’s godpower frightened him. 

Merlin’s nostrils flared, and he left the room without another word.

“Let me get this straight,” said Arthur. “Let me make absolutely sure I have this completely correct. You, Merlin, my manservant _Merlin_ , were going to travel to the _Isle of the Blessed,_ a stronghold of the _Old Religion,_ to _barter_ for my father’s _life_?” 

“Er…yes?” said Merlin, smiling foolishly. This particular foolish smile, the perfect mix of head-ducking and lash-fluttering, had taken him almost an hour to perfect. Merlin knew it worked when he heard the whirr of Arthur’s pupils dilating. 

“You can’t just leave the castle without telling me,” said Arthur, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He swiped his tongue over his lower lip and bit ever-so-slightly.

 _Maybe I should work on making this look_ less _successful,_ thought Merlin, swinging back around on his horse. He began to ride again, and Arthur caught up. There was some quiet which Arthur spoiled by thinking too loudly.

Merlin tried not to read Arthur’s thoughts as a rule, but he was just annoyed enough to rifle through them. As Merlin had suspected, Gaius had told Arthur. Not without a fight, though.

“You shouldn’t threaten an old man with the stocks, you know,” Merlin muttered.

“What was that?” Arthur said.

Merlin smiled blandly. “Nothing.”

Arthur looked suspicious, but let it be.

They came across more overturned mass graves, and Merlin could have kicked himself for not realizing that something was afoot all those weeks ago. 

“You think this is connected with my father’s curse?” Arthur said. Merlin nodded. “Why?”

“I think this is a sign,” Merlin said. “A warning.”

“From _who_?” said Arthur. 

Merlin looked at Arthur for a long time. Finally, Merlin said, “What do you know about the Old Religion?”

First of all, Merlin explained, the Old Religion wasn’t just one belief set. When Uther Pendragon committed his genocide, he shaded all his enemies with one brush. All magic-based religions were verboten. The Druids, the Emrysts, the Kalirs—all became enemies of the crown.

Secondly, Merlin said, each religion had their own gods, but they shared gods, too. The Triple Goddess was the main one, but there were others, too. Like Balinor, God of Dragons, and Hunith, God of Healing. 

Or Emrys, God of Magic. 

“Hang on,” said Arthur, poking Merlin with his foot. “How can there be a god of magic? Aren’t all gods magic?” They were sitting close to the campfire, taking in all the heat they could. 

“Magic is a force,” Merlin said, picking up a stick and prodding at the fire. “It runs through everything, an invisible river. Gods have more access to that river than anyone else. It’s what gives them their immortality and powerful magics. But hardly anyone is made entirely _of_ magic. One day, Emrys will be King of the Gods.”

“How do you know all this, anyway?” Arthur said skeptically. 

Merlin glanced up. The fire sent shadows flitting over Arthur’s finely-formed face, masking his expression. “Do you believe this?” said Arthur. 

Merlin cracked his stick in half and threw both pieces in the fire. Sparks shattered outward, some landing on Merlin’s clothes and skin. “Yes,” he said at last. “I do.” 

“My father destroyed your people,” said Arthur. “Didn’t he.”

“In a way,” Merlin said quietly.

“And yet you serve the crown. Despite his…his killings.”

“I serve _you_ ,” said Merlin. “Not Uther Pendragon. You’re a good man, Arthur. I know you are. You would never do the things your father did. Drowning children. Hanging their parents for trying to save them. Slaughtering hundreds of thousands of people like cattle.”

“I should fire you for this,” Arthur said in a low voice.

“No,” said Merlin, “you should _burn_ me for that. Will you?”

Arthur grunted and threw himself down on his sleeping pallet. “You have first watch,” he said. 

They arrived at the Isle of the Blessed midmorning the next day. Even with the sun shining, the Isle was cloaked in darkness.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” said Arthur.

Merlin shrugged. “It depends on Nimueh’s mood, I suppose.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said dangerously, “who the hell is Nimueh?”

“The God of Balance,” Merlin said with a cheerful smile. “She holds the fate of every mortal in her hands.”

“Don’t you think is something you should have told me _before_ we got here?”

“What did you think we were going to do?” said Merlin. “Go fishing?” It was the sort of sarcasm Arthur used, and their roles felt oddly flipped. Merlin could sense that Arthur felt it too. 

“I can’t believe you,” Arthur said. “I really can’t.” Then he sighed. “How do we get across, then?”

“The boatman,” said Merlin, searching the dark and choppy water for the familiar prow of the ship.

“Let me guess,” said Arthur. “Another god.”

“Just an acolyte,” Merlin said cheerfully. “Ah, there he is!” He pointed to the small wooden boat making its way towards them. A cloaked figure stood at the helm. When the boat reached them, the figure in a scratchy voice:

“Payment?” 

Arthur frowned, but Merlin stepped forward. He bent down over the man and looked into his cloaked face. For a moment, just a moment, he dropped his mortal mask. “We’ll ride for free,” Merlin said pleasantly.

The boatman nodded.

“How did you do that?” said Arthur when they were sitting in the back of the boat. “Did you say something to him?”

Merlin looked over at the boatman, whose shoulders were relaxed. He was disappointed; he’d sort of wanted to scare a mortal. But the boatman was probably used to gods. He served Nimueh, after all, and she was the scariest there was.

Arthur shook his head. “There’s something about you, Merlin…”

“It’s probably my amazing good looks,” said Merlin. 

“Mmm, maybe not,” said Arthur. They grinned at each other, and Arthur was the first to look away. “How are we going to do this?”

 _A life for a life._ Merlin certainly didn’t plan on trading Arthur for Uther, and he didn’t plan on trading himself, either. Honestly, he wasn’t really sure what he was going to do. He supposed he would find out. To Arthur, he said, “We’ll start by asking politely.” 

Arthur looked at Merlin as if he had announced plans to run naked down the streets of Camelot. “We’re just going to _ask_?”

“It probably won’t work,” said Merlin. 

Arthur shook his head. “Sometimes I think there’s something deeply wrong with you, Merlin.”

“Probably,” said Merlin. 

Arthur looked down at his hands, then up at Merlin. “We might die.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re doing all this for my father,” Arthur said.

Merlin almost laughed. “Of course not. I’m doing it for you.”

“I never asked you to.”

“You didn’t have to.” Merlin reached out and squeezed Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s head shot up. He looked as if he were about to say something, but then he just squeezed back.

They landed on the Isle, and the ship disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Gloomy,” Arthur said.

Merlin took in the dark earth, the dark stones, the dark sky. “Yes,” he said. “Very.” He closed his eyes and felt around for Nimueh. He could feel her, the pulsing heart of this island. “This way.”

They found Nimueh in a crumbling courtyard, leaning against a stone well. Her skin was blue, her eyes were red, her lips dripped blood. Merlin heard the minuscule creak of Arthur’s muscles tensing.

“Children,” Nimueh said. She smiled cruelly, revealing two rows of shark-sharp teeth. 

Arthur stepped forward. “I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon. I have come to beg an audience with the God of Balance.”

Merlin couldn’t help but marvel at Arthur’s bravery. Nimueh wore terror like a cloak. Mortals generally quailed before her.

However, Nimueh ignored Arthur, her eyes sliding behind him to meet Merlin’s. “How you’ve grown, little one.” 

Arthur sucked in his breath. “She knows you?” he hissed. “You failed to leave out the very relevant detail that the god _knows_ you?”

“We’ve met once or twice,” Merlin said. He remembered her at his parents’ hall, devouring unicorn meat raw. Nimueh lived on destruction of beautiful things. Her isle was the perfect example. All around were ruins of what had once been a great temple, but Nimueh preferred disrepair.

“Once or twice?” Nimueh said. “I’m so hurt that you would lie.” Her eyes filled with tears of blood which dripped down her cheeks in scarlet streaks. 

Merlin grit his teeth. “I’m not here to play games, Nimueh.” 

“No, you aren’t, are you?” Nimueh said. The tears disappeared as if they had never been. “There’s something different about you.” 

“You said it,” Merlin said. “I’ve grown.” He could feel Arthur’s confusion like a horde of bees. Soon it would grow into recognition, and then contempt. Merlin didn’t want that. He didn’t want that at all.

“I think…” said Nimueh, stepping towards them and peering into Merlin’s face, “I think that you are in love.”

It was true. Merlin was a loving god, and he had grown to love Arthur. 

“What about you, golden prince?” said Nimueh. “Are you in love?”

Arthur swallowed. His blue eyes were wide. “I don’t like lies,” said Nimueh.

Silence filled the air. “Yes,” Arthur whispered at last. “Yes. I’m in love.”

Merlin knew Arthur like he knew himself; of course he had known that Arthur loved him. But the words still filled him with pleasure. It was almost like the pleasure of being worshipped, and yet much better.

“You’re here for the sword,” Nimueh said, changing topics so quickly that Merlin’s mind lagged behind. When it caught up, he shook his head.

“Not yet.”

“I thought you weren’t here to play games,” Nimueh said. “The time for play is over.”

“I’m here on behalf of Uther Pendragon,” Merlin insisted. “To trade a life for his.”

Nimueh laughed at him. “You think I would save the Hypocrite King?”

“I could kill you,” Merlin said. Besides him, Arthur gasped.

“I suppose if anyone could kill a god, it would be you,” said Nimueh, though she didn’t look very worried. “But do you think you could ever return home if you did that? Do you think you would ever again be welcomed at the Assembly of the Gods?”

“Merlin?” said Arthur. “Merlin’s not a god. Who would let Merlin be a god?” But Merlin could tell that Arthur didn’t believe his own words. From the moment Nimueh had addressed Merlin, it had been clear that he was keeping more lies than just his faith. But Arthur liked to believe the best in people.

“How does that feel, little prince?” said Nimueh. “Your right-hand man, a liar? What did that take, godling, to pretend to be mortal? To give up your worshippers? To be the dust beneath the Hypocrite’s feet? And now you want to _save_ him?”

“For Arthur,” Merlin said, trying to keep his voice steady. “He’s not ready to be king.”

Nimueh looked at Arthur, whose face was very pale. “He looks ready enough to me.”

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” Merlin argued. “There are so many things he needs to do first.” 

“Says who?” 

“Me,” said Merlin. “ _I_ say so.” 

“If you ask me,” said Nimueh, “I think you just don’t want to leave childhood behind. You’ve liked this, haven’t you? Little quests with your little prince. The time to play your little games.”

“You know what Uther’s death will cause,” said Merlin. “You _know._ ” 

“I expect the other kingdoms will attack,” said Nimueh. “Camelot against the rest of the Five Kingdoms. That’s why Arthur should take his sword.”

“Not yet,” Merlin insisted. 

“Don’t I get a say?”

Merlin and Nimueh turned to look at Arthur. His stood with his head held high, his right hand seated on the pommel of his sword. 

“A say in the affairs of gods?” said Nimueh. “How very presumptuous of you.”

“Let him speak,” said Merlin. His eyes met Arthur’s. It felt like Nimueh wasn’t even there.

“My father destroyed your worshippers,” said Arthur. “I’ve seen their bones. He’s killed hundreds of thousands in his quest to eradicate magic. I love my father, but I think his time has come.”

“Do you choose to take up arms, Arthur Pendragon?” said Nimueh.

Arthur nodded. “I do.”

“And so the mortal is braver than the god,” said Nimueh. “Look in the well.” And she melted away like a mirage. Arthur and Merlin were alone.

“You should probably look in the well,” said Merlin.

Arthur ignored this. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me what you are, Merlin.”

“No,” said Merlin, “I can’t. I can’t. You’d never see me the same way again.”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, "I think _that_ has long since passed.”

Merlin reached for Arthur, who stood steady. He cupped Arthur’s cheek with one hand. They breathed together. Merlin dropped his mask. 

Arthur had to crane his head as Merlin grew to seven feet, eight feet. His skin burned gold, his eyes were molten. His hair twisted into a crown of vines. His clothes ripped as he grew, and Merlin replaced them with heavy blue robes. 

“This is who I am, Arthur.” His god’s voice was so rich and deep that the earth vibrated when he spoke.

Arthur licked his lips, a nervous habit. “I don’t understand. What have you being doing with _me_ all these years? You could be ruling the world.”

“That’s not what gods are for,” said Merlin. “We throw our lots in with the mortals.” 

“Why me?” said Arthur. “Why did you pick me?” 

“Because it’s fate,” said Merlin. “Because I was born to serve you. Because I wanted to.”

“ _You_ were born to serve _me_?” said Arthur. His laugh had an edge of hysteria. “Stop lying, Merlin.” 

“I am done with lies, Arthur Pendragon.”

“What are you the god of, then?” said Arthur. “Manservants?”

“You know who I am. I told you my name.”

Understanding dawned. “You’re Emrys.” 

Merlin nodded. 

“Merlin was never real.”

“ _No_ ,” said Merlin. “Of course I was real! I still am! Arthur, you heard me say it. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He shrank as he spoke, his skin turning pale, his eyes blue, his hair black. He remained in his blue robes, but in all other respects, he was Merlin again. 

A single tear rolled down Arthur’s cheek. “Why did you lie? Why would you do that?”

“I wanted a friend,” Merlin said simply. 

Arthur stared at him. And then he sank to his knees. 

Merlin loved the taste of worship, but this curdled on his tongue. “No,” he said, kneeling to meet Arthur. “Not that. Never that. We are equals, you and I.”

Arthur’s breath rolled over Merlin’s lips. “How can you say that?”

“Look in the well,” Merlin responded and helped Arthur to his feet. They walked over the weedy cobblestones together.

“There’s an inscription,” said Arthur.

“I know,” said Merlin. 

“ _Whoso pulleth this Sword of this Fount is the rightwise King of Gold_ ,” read Arthur. He looked up. “The King of Gold?”

“He who will free Camelot’s soul from its shackles,” said Merlin. “That’s you, Arthur.”

In the well, a sword floated. Not horizontally as one would expect, but vertically, its tip pointing down into the blue depths. Arthur slowly reached his hand to the hilt and wrapped his fingers around it before pausing. “What if you’re wrong, Merlin? What if it’s not me?”

“It is,” Merlin said.

And it was.

Arthur held the sword in the air, its golden blade shining like the sun. “This doesn’t look like any sword I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s magic,” said Merlin. “It was wrought by the great god Kilgharrah, who leads the Assembly.” 

“Right,” said Arthur. “Because that’s a totally normal thing for you to say to me.” He removed his old sword and sheathed the new one in its place. 

“We should go,” said Merlin, a shiver passing through him. Uther Pendragon’s time was near. It would be best to return to Camelot before that happened.

“One moment,” said Arthur, facing Merlin. “Just one moment.” He pulled Merlin against him and rested his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” 

Merlin brought his own arms around Arthur and held him tight. “It was my pleasure,” he said. 

Arthur pulled back. His forehead touched Merlin’s. “You’ll stay with me?” 

“Of course,” said Merlin, surprised. “I would never leave you, Arthur.” 

And he never did. 

When Arthur and his manservant arrived in Camelot, the king was dead.

Long live the king. 

_Thus endeth our tale of the King Above and the King Below._


End file.
